


Mulder and Scully and the Spooky Dance Off (by Walter Skinner)

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 00:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12287820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: This is fluff on crack with a large portion of special chocolate brownie thrown in. It is as preposterous and unlikely as a well lit kissing scene in season 11. But, there is an FBI ball, dancing and Skinner. This is the bubbly white breaker in the murky sea of angst that I have presented recently. Down a shot and enjoy.





	Mulder and Scully and the Spooky Dance Off (by Walter Skinner)

Skinner cursed. Having Mulder back under his wing as an agent was testing. Having Mulder as a dance partner was like waltzing with the lovechild of the losing contestants on Dancing with the Stars and Survivor. At this very moment, Fox Mulder was pouting in the corner of the room. Skinner had sent him there so he didn’t hit him, strangle him or shoot him with the weapon he’d left tucked into his jacket pocket. A good AD was always prepared. A siege at the local dance school wasn’t all that unlikely these days. The murder of a subordinate agent was imminent.  
“I can’t dance, okay? Satisfied?”  
Skinner huffed out a sigh and itched his forehead. Mulder had developed the ability to infect people with mysterious skin complaints where it was preferable to scrape your own nails down your face and draw blood, than spend more than five minutes in his company. And he had six more weeks of lessons to get through.  
“You can, Mulder. And you will. One more time from the top.”  
The music started and he grabbed Mulder’s shoulder to turn him around. They one-two-three’d around the floor in a staccato pattern.  
God, he hated Scully.  
He hated her because this was her idea. Get Mulder ready for the FBI ball. You can dance, Walter. Show him how.  
God, he loved Scully.  
He loved her because she lived with this man and had to put up with him for longer than 30 minute stretches.  
“I can’t get the rhythm right,” Mulder said, swinging his arm off Skinner’s and stalking off to the corner again. “She’ll fall over my feet, I’ll fall over her feet, I’ll embarrass her. It’s just not worth it. Charity or not.”  
Skinner fingered the handle of his gun. If he fired low, he could kneecap Mulder and then the whole plan would fall through. If he fired high, he could wound a shoulder badly enough for reconstructive surgery. If he fired straight, he could just put everyone out of their misery.  
“I hate fucking dancing, I hate fucking balls, I hate fucking charities, I hate fucking…”  
Skinner held up his hands. “Agent Mulder! You will get back here right now and start again. Do you understand me?”  
Mulder scowled, digging his hands deep in his pockets. “There’s no need to hold me at fucking gunpoint, Walter. That’s something Scully would do.”  
“Restraint is a quality I’ve always admired in her, Mulder.”  
The Annual Children’s Charity Ball had grown over the years. And attendance was expected for senior agents. Mulder and Scully’s return to the Bureau had raised some old grey eyebrows. Long-serving directors with long-serving memories would not forgive nor forget the Spooky’s and their accusations. Redemption could come as simply as a waltz around the dance floor. Other agents could bid on their favourite couples and those who raised the most were pitted against each other in a dance-off.  
When Scully told Skinner that she’d danced with Mulder previously, she mentioned some Frankenstein monster and peanut butter and The Fly or something (he wasn’t really listening) but he figured it couldn’t be that hard to teach the genius a few fancy moves. He could only hope they’d be eliminated in the first round and they could all just get pissed on the free beer and wine.  
Scully was a vision in dark green silk and her hair plaited around her forehead to her nape where it curled over her neck. Mulder was handsome in his tux and bowtie but fingered his collar between sips and generally looked more sour than the cherry dip. Skinner downed his beer when the announcer called the dance partners to the floor and took ringside seat.  
The first dance – a waltz - was slow enough for Mulder to remember his steps and with Scully’s gentle, smiling encouragement, he twirled and stepped until the music slowed. They survived the cut and hit the floor for the quick-step. Closely followed by the cha-cha-cha where Mulder managed a supple waggle of his hips that had the grey eyebrow brigade chuffing with the same distaste they reserved for everything Spooky did.   
So, they were down to two couples. Miller and Einstein vs Mulder and Scully. A tango head-to-head. Skinner loosened his bow-tie and smirked at the directors on his table. Thousands of dollars had been raised. And satisfaction welled within him until he felt a peculiar sting at gthe corner of his eyes.  
The music blared heralding the dramatic entrances of the dancers. Shoulders set, arms locked, fingers clasped, toes pointed, legs stepping. Mulder turned Scully with precision and romance. It was mesmerising. Their chemistry spilled out to infect everyone in the room and with just a minute left, there was no way they could lose.  
Until Mulder overstepped and trod on the hem of Scully’s glorious emerald dress just as he sent her into a turn. Skinner reached for his gun, still secure in his pocket.  
“Kill me now,” he whispered, draining his beer.  
He looked up to watch the disaster unfolding. The effect of Mulder’s mis-step was that Scully unravelled on his arm as fast as her dress unravelled from the floor up, revealing thigh-highs with lace tops, silver sandals and a flash of white lace panty. The collective gasp from the audience filled the room. The band continued. Miller and Einstein stopped in their tracks, mouths agape.  
But Mulder stooped, collected the silk skirt from the floor and wrapped Scully back into it on the reverse turn. She flushed red but continued, stoic as ever, until the last beat faded into the rousing applause of the grey eyebrows and roomful of agents.  
Skinner slotted the gun back into its position. “Fuck me,” he said, taking another beer from the waiter.  
Mulder smiled and bowed. Scully clutched at the lower half of her dress.  
God, he hated Mulder. That arrogant, lazy smile and his ability to look permanently handsome whether covered in alien goop or in Scully.  
God, he loved Mulder. The way he could reinvent himself from loser in the basement to winner with Scully wrapped in his arms and her own skirts.  
He raised his glass and smiled. “Welcome home, Spookys.”


End file.
